She slipped her arms about his neck with a little cry of ecstasy.
"Oh, Marsh, I have been foolish, too, but this is the place for me—my place—against your very heart!" she said softly.
For a long minute Langham held her so, and then tortured by sudden memory he came back sharply to the actualities. His arms dropped from about her.
"What is it, dear?" she asked.
She was not yet ready to pass from the passion of that moment.
"It's too late—" he muttered brokenly.
"No, dear, it's not too late, we have only been a little foolish. Of course we can go back; of course we can begin all over, and we know now what to avoid; that was it, we didn't know before, we were ignorant of ourselves—of each other. Why, don't you see, we are only just beginning to live, dear—you must have faith!" and again her arms encircled him.
"But you don't know—" he stammered.
"Don't know what, dear?"
He dropped into his chair, and she sank on her knees at his side. A horrible black abyss into which he was falling, seemed to open at his feet. Her hands were the only ones that could draw him back and save him.